


Beyond The Barricade Is A World

by edgy_fluffball



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barricade Day, Is it even angst?, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Revolution Re-Enactment, death mentioned, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:13:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgy_fluffball/pseuds/edgy_fluffball
Summary: Barricade Day 2019. A group of students comes together to fight. In their midst, two souls gravitate towards each other.





	Beyond The Barricade Is A World

‘They have breached at the south end, the barricade has fallen!’

‘We are out of ammunition, Enjolras, we can’t keep resisting much longer. They are going to pulverise us!’

‘I fear communications are down, we are isolated!’

‘No backup, there are no support troops. Enjolras, we stand alone. We are the last ones left.’

‘Jehan was taken! They have Jehan!’

A gasp was audible as a few of them gathered and collapsed to the ground, ‘Those bastards! We have to get them back, we cannot allow them to hold Jehan hostage. They will execute them, make an example of them!’

Bahorel threw himself against the structure of the barricade, despair in his eyes, ‘We have to get them back, Enjolras!’

‘And I agree,’ Enjolras crawled closer to him, head ducked behind the barricade.

His hair had escaped its tie and framed his face, his clothes were dishevelled and sported a few tears and smudges of unknown origin. He was out of breath and his voice strained as he spoke, one arm holding back Bahorel who seemed ready to jump over the barricade and into the crossfire in front of it.

‘We will not accept Jehan’s imprisonment, we have fought too much and have come too far to sit idly,’ he looked around with heat in his eyes, seemingly ablaze, ‘You have fought resiliently, citizens. We will not pause and wait for their conditions, Jehan is one of us and we will safe them!’

Before one of them could suggest a plan to get to their comrade, however, a single, loud scream tore through their ears. Blood curdled in their veins.

‘Vive la France! Long live the future!’

A shot rang in the air.

‘Jehan! Those bastards,’ there was no point in trying to hold Bahorel back as he threw himself over the barricade with an animalistic wail, ‘You will pay for –‘

He was cut off in the middle of his sentence. The sound of his body hitting the floor seemed to echo like a clap of thunder in their midst.

Grantaire felt his throat close up. He had tagged along, taken part in the fighting and defended their post honourably. At least that had been Enjolras’ words when he commended him for his commitment. Now, with their defences dwindling and their enemies closing in, he did not feel honourable or brave anymore. It felt more like the nasty feeling of sobering up after too much to drink and too little sleep. He had not agreed with their plan or their intent but as so often, he had tagged along after Enjolras held another rousing speech and looked at him with a beaming smile.

He was too easily persuaded.

‘Enjolras, face it. We are in a dead-end, without ammunition and resources, we have lost too many of our people and by now they could just wait for us to die of starvation,’ Courfeyrac tapped his toes, ‘let’s go out with a bang.’

‘A bang?’ Combeferre adjusted his glasses, ‘A firework of passion and dedication, a monument of upstanding citizenship, a memorial for future generations!’

‘Agreed,’ Enjolras reached for Combeferre’s hand and squeezed it, and Combeferre grabbed Courfeyrac’s, who, in turn, took Grantaire’s hand, ‘we stand together.’

Grantaire swallowed under Enjolras’ heated look. It took him a moment of thoughtless blinking away the stubborn tears in his eyes before he saw the hand stretched out for him to take. He grabbed it and Enjolras gave it an encouraging squeeze.

‘We stand together,’ Courfeyrac nodded and looked around, ‘we fall together.’

With that, he turned around and scrambled over their barricade, Combeferre right behind him. Their war cries sounded menacing enough to make their blood run cold. Grantaire held on to Enjolras’ hand even tighter, trying to compose himself.

‘Ready?’ Enjolras’ voice showed no signs of wavering determination or questioned pride as he looked at him with a smile.

Grantaire swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, ‘Ready, when you are.’

The first step was the hardest, he felt. The certainty of walking into his fate, knowing it was the end, made it hard to start but easier once they were in motion. They climbed the barricade, side by side, still hand in hand, their fingers intertwined. Grantaire could see an early ray of sunshine break on Enjolras’ hair. Its reflections made it seem like a halo around his head had appeared. The sight allowed for Grantaire to breathe easily as they faced their opponents.

‘There he is, that’s the leader!’

The cry alerted everybody around them of their presence. Heads turned, faces lit up in gleeful satisfaction.

‘Take aim! Shoot him on the spot!’

Grantaire felt Enjolras’ fingers tighten around his. Whilst his face did not betray him, he let on the tiniest weakness during that last moment they shared, a wavering in his posture. Enjolras found his gaze and gave him a smile, hidden behind his stoic expression. It helped a little.

Grantaire, terrified out of his wits, remembered that he had bones in his body, a spine that kept him upright. He stretched himself up to full height and put on a brave face. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that he could keep his senses together whilst stood next to Enjolras, his hand firm in his.

‘Long live the Republic! Finish both of us at one blow,’ he said, willing his voice to stay strong and unwavering.

He saw their opponents aiming at them and, with a last moment of heroism, found Enjolras, giving him the gentlest smile he could compose himself to present, ‘Do you permit it?’

Enjolras pressed his hand, returning the smile.

The report sounded. He felt the hits he took, pain spreading through his torso and his arms, then an unbearable pain exploded in his head and he felt himself fall.

Their hands were still entangled.

 

 

***

 

 

‘And that’s it for this year,’ the announcement came via the speakers around the field, ‘thank you to all participants and organisers of our annual re-enactment. There are refreshments and snacks by the main porch. Please return your gear and guns to the main distribution point and sign for the equipment that was handed out to you. Please make sure to sign up for next year soon as places tend to go fast.’

Somewhere in the middle of the field, Jehan Prouvaire sat up and took off the blindfold the National Guard-team had put on them before executing him. They groaned and stretched, scowling at a realisation that hit them.

‘We lost again, didn’t we,’ they turned around and found Bahorel who got up and shrugged in response, ‘and now I have to go find my friends. They will be strewn in all directions. Again.’

‘Sorry,’ one of the law students in police service who made up the National Guard helped them up, ‘I think we got your shirt a little.’

Jehan spotted their blue tinted elbow and shrugged, ‘It’s one of my lesser shirts. This one will see the rubbish bin sooner or later. Good fun. Thank you for executing me so promptly.’

‘Likewise. Great last words,’ they shook hands.

Bahorel put his arm around them and led them away, ‘We should try and find the rest. Enjolras and Grantaire will have died at the barricade, as always. Any sign of anybody else?’

‘I think I saw Joly clock out early. Bossuet must be at the first aid tent.’

‘Any sign of Marius and the girls?’

‘Éponine was killed first and they took her off to watch the rest, I think.’

‘Same procedure as every year,’ Bahorel sighed, ‘where’s our favourite ginger?’

‘No idea,’ Jehan pushed themselves on their tiptoes to peer over a bunker, ‘Feuilly? Hey, Feuilly, where did you die?’

‘Down at the river,’ a faint answer reached their ears, ‘the bastards drowned me.’

‘Well,’ Bahorel climbed over the fallen tree trunk at the river bank, ‘did you yell at them again?’

‘It was more of the being shot in the back trying to escape via river kind of death,’ Feuilly proceeded to wring his bandana over a puddle that seemed to hold whatever he had squeezed out of his clothes so far, ‘I got the Isildur.’

‘Well done, Feuilly,’ Jehan hugged him and pressed a kiss to his neck, ‘shall we go find the others? Enjolras and Grantaire should have finished their awkward dance they do every year.’

‘Do you think they’re ever going to find out that their awkward dance is just both of them being too oblivious to see that they pine for each other?’

‘As long as it is not this year, I bet Courfeyrac way too much money it’s happening next year or in five years, at the soonest,’ Bahorel patted both of them on the shoulders.

 

 ***

 

Grantaire tried to get the ringing noise out of his ears. His head still hurt and he felt bruises bloom under the gear he wore. Someone tugged on his hand.

‘Grantaire? Are you okay, hey, can you get up?’

‘Enjolras?’

‘Yes, come on, I’m going to have to get you checked. You were out for a couple of minutes,’ his hair was being combed out of his face, a worried face appeared in his peripheral vision, usurping the sun of its shining pedestal, replacing it with a halo of gleaming locks.

‘Enjolras,’ he smiled at him, ‘we died again.’

‘I know,’ Enjolras’ hand supported his neck and helped him sit up, ‘no need to give up, though, we’ll try again next year. We have to succeed at some point, no need to give up.’

‘Sure, never giving up,’ Grantaire blinked at him, ‘I feel slightly dizzy, very warm and uncomfortable.’

‘Are you going to throw up?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Grantaire got up slowly, ‘I just need another moment amongst the dead to recharge, that’s all. That and a drink?’

Enjolras handed him a cup of water, ‘Got you covered. Come on. Let’s get back out there, the others must be gathering for the post-activity stuff.’

‘Oh how I missed it,’ Grantaire groaned, leaning heavily on him, ‘post-revolution enactment drinks with the guys that shot at us before.’

They reached the porch and Enjolras made Grantaire sit down in one of the chairs in the first aid bay, just a couple of seats away from where Bossuet was being checked for a concussion.

‘Do you still feel alright?’ Enjolras sat down next to him, ‘That last hit was pretty harsh.’

‘Nah, don’t worry, I’m just peachy,’ Grantaire rubbed his head, ‘although, this does feel like a bump.’

Enjolras threw him a look, ‘That’s because you seem to have taken a pellet to the head. It looks rather menacing.’

‘Menacing?’ Grantaire fumbled for his phone and opened the front camera, ‘Oh shit, I look awesome!’

A red bullet had burst on the side of his head and the contents had dripped down the side of his head, smeared over his face and mixed with the dust that had been kicked up as he had fallen. Grantaire grinned into the camera lense, carefully tracing the red paint.

‘Hey, Enj, get over here and in the frame, this is the one time we can take a photo of me looking badass!’

Enjolras rolled his eyes with a smile and moved closer in, ‘One picture for you to prove that you took a hit and didn’t hide like last year?’

‘Excuse me, I didn’t hide, I snuck up on the enemy!’

‘And you died yelling _Take this, suckers_! How is that sneaking up?’

Grantaire nudged him in the side and took a few photos, sticking out his tongue at Enjolras for a brief moment in the last. Some of their friends and opponents showed up and obliterated the snacks and refreshments offered. Enjolras got Grantaire an ice pack and fussed about the pellets that had hit him.

‘Sit down and take a break,’ Grantaire grabbed his hand and pulled him to stop, ‘you were hit in the chest and you didn’t even take off the protective gear yet.’

‘Look at you two,’ Courfeyrac sat down on the porch in front of them, ‘all caring and cute, looking out for each other!’

Before Grantaire or Enjolras could reply, the organisers cut the music.

‘This year’s re-enactment ends with a victorious National Guard. For our awards for best deaths, we have heard of three nominations: Feuilly, for being almost drowned. Jehan, for being executed. And, last but not least, Grantaire for taking a hit to the head, precisely between the mask and the helmet.’

Some applause was audible, Grantaire shook his head, ‘I still think it’s ridiculous to give out awards for the best death.’

‘You know,’ Enjolras cleared his throat, ‘you know they do that because we lose every year and would never win anything, otherwise.’

‘Oh,’ Grantaire felt his jaw hit the floor as he stared at Enjolras, willing him to smile and seek any kind of physical contact.

‘Objection,’ Courfeyrac jumped up and off the porch, ‘I would like to nominate Enjolras and Grantaire together. As in joined nomination!’

‘Why?’ Someone asked, turning around to face them.

‘They died hand in hand this year, and thus, closer together than ever before.’

‘Fair point,’ one of the National Guardsmen grinned, ‘they deserve it!’

Enjolras buried his face in Grantaire’s shoulder, ‘Don’t make this happen, please, no.’

The person with the microphone watched as more and more people joined the chant of mixed Enjolras and Grantaire’s, ‘I think this is pretty overwhelming. Grantaire – Enjolras, come up here and collect your trophy! Dying hand in hand, that’s something new!’

‘Let’s get it,’ Grantaire got up and pulled Enjolras with him, ‘you can scowl afterwards.’

‘You know me so well,’ Enjolras groaned and trotted after him, ‘hey, Grantaire?’

‘Yep, at your service?’

‘The trophy has to go to your place.’

‘Why?’

‘You deserve it. You did get shot in the head, after all.’

Grantaire hid his smile behind a strategically placed hand as he coughed and spluttered, facing away from him. They climbed the small pedestal and received the small trophy. Holding it up together, Enjolras let them relish the applause before tucking the trophy in Grantaire’s arm.

‘There you go, that’s yours now,’ he grinned and patted his shoulder.

Grantaire imagined his hand staying on his shoulder and sliding down his arm for a moment before he was brought back to reality by Courfeyrac and Feuilly whooping and cheering.

‘We should get back and out with the guys, shouldn’t we?’ Grantaire waved awkwardly at Cosette who gave them a brilliant smile, ‘We’ve been in the spotlight a bit too long now.’

‘Do you feel like that?’ Enjolras took his hand to lead him off the small stage and back to their friends, ‘are you still okay? Your head not acting up?’

‘No, my head’s fine. It’s giving you a halo but that’s nothing new.’

‘Are you really sure you’re okay?’

‘As I said, that’s normal.’

‘You just said you see a halo,’ Enjolras stopped Grantaire as they rounded the corner of the cabin, ‘I’m sorry to say that I’m afraid you might have a concussion after all.’

Grantaire felt the hand against his forehead, another around his wrist and saw Enjolras’ worried eyes bore into his. He could hardly reason with Enjolras, his uttering had been spectacularly out of place and sounded weird even to him.

‘I am sure I don’t have a concussion. It’s not my fault if your hair is bright enough to reflect the sunlight,’ he protested, straining against Enjolras’ grip on his wrist, ‘it looks like you’ve got a halo, that’s all I’m saying.’

He managed to free his hand and sought refuge amongst their friends. Enjolras followed him, his expression schooled in inconspicuousness. Their arrival was welcomed by Bahorel and Combeferre who both had expressed their willingness to win in the field. Bahorel’s trousers had changed colour entirely and Combeferre’s glasses seemed to sit slightly wonky on his nose.

‘Are all of you ready, then?’ Cosette tightened her headband and jingled her car keys, ‘Pub’s waiting.’

Their traditional get-together had started a few years back, after Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had become friends. The group had grown over time with more and more people feeling drawn to their presence, as if they had always known them. Jehan had joked about stars aligning and prophecies coming true the moment their Triumvirate first came into contact and Grantaire was inclined to approve their theory without second thought.

Grantaire waited in the back whilst everybody else filed into the few cars they possessed among them. He tried to avoid the busy chatter between National Guardsmen and Revolutionaries that always seemed to culminate in battles of wits and philosophies. He had a philosophy but it seemed too long that he had voiced his opinion in front of other people, too long for anyone to care. The cars filled up and he tried to spot a familiar blond thatch so as to avoid it and board any other car. His attempts to keep the nagging voice out of his head were unsuccessful.

‘Do you ever wonder what happened, if we actually won?’ Enjolras appeared at his side, a water bottle in one hand, ‘Like, would the world stop turning? Would we upset some kind of natural balance? I cannot imagine us winning, as much as I might long for it. Something seems to slip into place, every year, as we lose. It’s frustrating. Every year I try and achieve something, reach one of the stars that seem so high set and unattainable… just one of the goals I set myself every year.’

Grantaire managed to subtly clear his throat, ‘You set yourself goals?’

‘It’s almost like a tactic,’ Enjolras scratched his neck, ‘I have a list of things I want to achieve, every year the same things but I just can’t seem to reach them.’

‘What kind of things?’ Grantaire, despite everything intrigued, turned around to face Enjolras, ‘Come on, I really want to know!’

‘For one, I want to keep the flag on top of the barricade – just once! Or, keep Gavroche from doing something stupid! Make sure Courf doesn’t get scared, Jehan separated from the group or keep Feuilly from going completely berserk. Both of us know I haven’t succeeded at doing any of these things as of now and it drives me crazy! Why can’t I make it happen, why do we always lose and why do I get so upset about it? I sometimes feel like it all leads to this moment and afterwards, I’m just empty! As if I lost all my purpose and had nothing left to live for!’

Enjolras kicked a small stone in the parking lot and crossed his arms. To Grantaire, it looked more like he attempted to hug himself, giving himself some comfort. The thoughts that had spilled from his lips had been unfiltered and a rare insight in his mind.

‘The biggest regret I have,’ Enjolras had to clear his throat and hugged himself tighter, ‘is that I still can’t figure out how to keep you out of the line of fire.’

‘You’re taking this too serious,’ Grantaire caught his gaze, ‘I’m fine, that pellet made me look cool.’

Enjolras tore his arms away from his body. He lifted one hand to caress his face and smiled, a sad, melancholy smile that made Grantaire want to wrap him in his arms and assure him of the love his friends had for him.

‘I don’t want to see you hurt,’ Enjolras said softly, ‘not even by a paintball pellet.’

‘Enjolras, we died hand in hand today,’ Grantaire gently took his hand and pressed it, ‘I suppose that brings us closer together.’

‘Maybe,’ Enjolras coughed, turned red and cocked his head to the side, ‘maybe not close enough?’

Grantaire felt the breath hitch in his throat, ‘Enjolras – are you hitting on me?’

‘Grantaire – are you finally getting it? After literal years?’

They stared at each other for a moment, both taking in each other’s marvel without the utterance of another word. It took Grantaire too long to realise Enjolras had begun to move again. The hand returned to his cheek, cupping his face and stroking the stubble he had sported for a few days.

‘Grantaire, if you don’t say something right now, I’m going to do something I feel I have wanted to do for centuries,’ Enjolras’ eyes gleamed, boring into Grantaire’s with a silent plead, ‘so please, let me know, if –‘

‘Yes,’ Grantaire rasped, nodding frantically, ‘yes, definitely!’

The gap between them got closed and they melted into each other’s embrace. The sun shone onto them, making Enjolras’ hair gleam even more; Grantaire forgot about the pub and drinks waiting for them as both clung to each other like a lifeline.

Something had clicked into place. Something had finally happened that had been waiting to happen for hundreds of years. In the parking lot of the paintball field, after numerous re-enactments of the June revolution, Grantaire and Enjolras had finally ended up in the exact place they had been supposed to be in. Their kiss, clumsy as it was since it was the first of many, made sense, not only to them.

It made sense to their friends who waited at the pub, drinks in hand and wondering where the last two members of their group were. Gavroche suggested they had been held up together since Enjolras’ car was still missing in the parking lot, Jehan bought champagne for everybody in a moment of pompous opulence and Courfeyrac proposed a toast to the assumed lovebirds.

All thoughts of death, pain and loss were displaced by the news once Marius and Cosette went back to the field to check, returning with a report on how Grantaire and Enjolras were holding hands again. When they finally joined them at the pub, it seemed like Enjolras would not part from the man by his side and Grantaire was seen with a non-alcoholic drink rather than his usual brandy.

No one in the room knew it but a new era had begun. As the group toasted again, Enjolras linked his arm with Grantaire’s and for the first time in years, none of them sat in a corner on their own.

And a year later, in another first, the revolution succeeded and Enjolras got to wave the flag on top of the barricade before pulling Grantaire in for a kiss that made him dizzy and functioned as romantic inspiration for their friends for years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Say Hello on [Tumblr](url)!


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